


physicality

by mechup



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Manipulation, Other, Telepathic Bondage, Telepathic Communication, Touch Repulsion, no one read this thanks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechup/pseuds/mechup
Summary: She won’t touch him.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	physicality

**Author's Note:**

> there seems to be a huge lack of fics involving Twelve where he's touch repulsed so i thought i'd write one! yes this was extremely uncomfortable for me to write bc i am touch repulsed myself, yes it was worth it bc it's hot <3 thanks to Freya for helping me with this!

She won’t touch him. 

She won’t touch him and normally, he would be completely fine with this because he doesn’t like to be touched. In fact, he _hates_ being touched, hates the uncomfortable feeling that surfaces beneath his skin whenever someone makes physical contact with him. So realistically, he should have absolutely no issue with Missy not placing her hands on him but instead he finds himself arching up into the air, searching for what he knows won’t come. 

“You won’t get anything if you don’t ask,” she tells him from where she’s sitting a few inches away from him on the bed. She’s so close that he could simply reach out himself, but the thought of disobeying doesn’t even occur to him. 

“Please, I—” immediately rushes out before he stops, inhales slowly, and tries to calm himself down. “I want... your hands.”

“What is it about my hands that you want? To see them?” She holds them up in his line of sight for him to examine. He shakes his head and she lowers them again. “No? You’ll have to be more specific then, dear.”

He hesitates, because while he really does want them on him, just the thought of it already makes him uncomfortable. The desperate part of his brain wins over and he says, “I want you to touch me.”

“I thought you didn’t like that this time around,” she says, making no effort to move. “You’re always talking about how you hate being touched.”

“I do hate it, but I just.” He stops, not quite knowing how to express that he’s going to go out of his mind if she doesn’t oblige him.

“Hmm...” She holds his gaze for a few seconds as she seems to consider it, and then: “No.”

He really shouldn’t be surprised by her answer but he still is somehow, and he momentarily shuts his eyes in frustration. He’s so riled up at this point and he needs _some_ form of release, but he should’ve known Missy wouldn’t make this easy for him. 

“Missy,” he says, itching for something, _anything_ , that can put him out of his misery.

“I’m doing you a favor,” she says simply. “You don’t like being touched, so I’m not going to.” 

“Please, it’s fine just this once.” He opens his eyes again, hoping she might take pity on him. He can’t remember the last time he’s ever needed something this much, and her telling him no is making it even worse. 

“Are you _sure?_ ” she questions even despite already knowing the answer. She waits for him to nod and then she deliberately lifts up her hand, watching him as he watches her moving it closer to him. She approaches his arm and on instinct, without thinking about it at all, he jerks it away. She’s silent for a moment, giving him time to worry about what she’s going to do next, and then harshly says, “You’re playing games with me, Doctor.”

“I’m— I’m not,” he tries to tell her because it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t control his reaction. She shakes her head and tsks, and he realizes she had known that would happen. He’s not sure whether he should be more betrayed by himself or her, lowering his eyes as they fill with tears from frustration. 

“Then why did you move away when I tried to give you what you said you wanted?” She doesn’t wait for a response before she reaches out again, her fingers _so close_ but not quite touching his skin. He feels the hair on his arm stand up in anticipation and tries to keep himself still so she’ll _finally_ touch him, but his traitorous body squirms away. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters and shuts his eyes again, trying to hold back his whimper of the pent up need coursing through him. He hears her shift away from him and his eyes flutter open in panic. He’ll beg her to give him one more chance if he has to. 

“You know what?” she asks before he can say anything. “If I can’t touch you, no one can. Not even you.”

He doesn’t know what he expects but he can only watch her as he waits for her next move. And then he feels it. 

It’s so light, so barely there, that if he hadn’t been a Time Lord he wouldn’t have noticed it. She has begun to pin him down with her mind, the ghost of her touch keeping him from moving. It should be exactly what he wants, _better_ than the physical contact he’s been asking for, but he can hardly even feel her mind mixing with his. 

“Missy, I—” He doesn’t know what he’s requesting now but he needs to find _some_ way of releasing the tension currently thrumming through his veins. He can’t remember the last time he felt so overwhelmed but she doesn’t seem like she’ll be able to be tempted by him in the slightest. 

“I think you forget that _this_ is how I like you best, Doctor,” she tells him sweetly, like he’s only here for her entertainment. “So desperate you can barely stand it, willing to do anything just for a scrap. You could be a god, but this is what you choose to do instead. You grovel at my feet.”

He feels the very outline of her mind press harder against his but it’s fleeting, gone before he can fall into it. She smirks, knowing exactly what she’s doing to him. 

“Please,” he whispers, not sure what to do, not _able_ to do anything. He can only take what she wants to give him and she doesn’t want to give him anything right now. He gives struggling against her telepathic hold on him a try but his arms won’t move. She begins to take off her jacket, his eyes tracking all movements of her hands as she undoes the buttons one by one. “What are you doing?”

“Well, you might be off limits but that doesn’t mean _I_ am.” She shrugs her jacket off her shoulders and starts on her blouse. His throat goes dry as he realizes she’s going to take what he wants for herself while he’s helpless and forced to watch. She offers him a smile that doesn’t do anything to reassure him. “Don’t worry. If you’re good then I might think about letting you free.”


End file.
